


Peaking

by Withstarryeyes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fever, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Pining Lance (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Sick Character, Sick Fic, Sick Lance (Voltron), feverish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 09:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15628197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withstarryeyes/pseuds/Withstarryeyes
Summary: Lance is an idiot and hides that he's sick because he has a crush on Shiro and doesn't want him taking care of him when he doesn't reciprocate feelings. Cue worsening symptoms and a hella worried Shiro.





	Peaking

The training bot swoops in from above and Lance only has a couple of seconds to roll out of the way enough to take a shot at it. He can feel a fever hot and thick on the back of his throat and it throws off his balance as he moves, ending sprawled over on the floor, back exposed to the bot. He winces and preemptively rolls over, blocking it from his face with his arm and blaster, eyes screwed shut to wait for the attack but it never comes. 

“End training sequence!” Shiro shouts and the bot shuts down, flickering back into nothing. Lance pants with fear and nausea on the ground, eyes watering. His muscles are achy and his throat stings but he’s not even halfway through his daily training by himself, let alone the team training in the afternoon. 

He hasn’t pulled himself off the ground by the time Shiro walks over to him. He looks concerned, his eyebrow scrunched down and a light frown tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You okay Lance? You weren’t hurt were you?” 

“No, no,” Lance breathes, trying to put enthusiasm in it, “just needed a breather that’s all. You know I love my breaks!”

Shiro doesn’t look convinced but he helps Lance off the ground and takes the blaster out of his hands. Lance takes the chance to take off his helmet. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks are flushed. He sees Shiro tracking the details, how he’s dripping sweat and panting, how he’s too hot for some light training and doges. “Went a little hard this morning, I...the last battle I lagged a little,” he gives a tiny shrug, “wanted to make sure I was keeping up with the team.” It ends on a sourly honest note and for the first time, Lance knows he let his insecurities show a little too much. He can see Shiro’s eyes soften and he steps forward, trying to place a hand on his arm. Lance dodges, spinning around Shiro and ignoring the betrayed surprise that flickers across Shiro’s face for a blind moment. 

“Gonna hit the showers, see you back in a few dobashes for afternoon training!” Lance calls as he retreats, head down and blushing furiously. He’s liked Shiro for as long as he can remember but it’s not reciprocated and the concern and attention he’d garner from the man if he knew he was sick sends another tingle of nausea slipping down his spine. He couldn’t handle it, seeing and feeling Shiro look after him, hands warm and deft as they checked for a fever and brought him tea. It was too personal, too close. 

The shower feels blessedly cool against Lance’s tight, hot skin and he stands under the spray for at least thirty minutes, zoning out. He’s got one arm leaning against the tile and the other at his side, feet firmly planted under him. It’s so nice that Lance feels his eyelids fighting him and drooping. He’s too tired to fight it. 

He wakes up when his foot slips and his precarious balance is thrown off. He crashes down with a mighty bang and his shoulder stings from clipping the control panel on the way down. He just nearly misses bouncing his head off the floor and his stomach makes a dangerous flip at the movement. He’s dizzy and hot again and the spray is freezing, he’s shivering under it. 

“Lance? Lance! Are you okay?” The shouting outside of the door reminds him he’s not alone and of course, they heard the sound of his body collapsing underneath him. 

“F-fine,” he chokes out, “I’m fine! Just slipped.”

“Told you he was fine, Shiro. Guy’s a klutz, probably slipped on soap,” Keith says. 

Shiro gives a heated mumble in reply and he hears Keith’s “what’s up with him today?” whine under his breath. 

Lance takes his time getting up. His legs feel weak and the nausea sends him throwing up in the drain before exiting the shower. He’s stumbling as he gathers his things and wraps a towel around his waist, face scrunched up as his head throbs. 

He decides to take a nap before training again, anything to be unconscious and away from this for a bit. He feels horrible. 

Fortunately there’s nobody in the hallway from the showers to his room because as good of an actor as Lance can be, there’s no performance he could give now. He’s painfully slow at moving to his room, one hand tracing the wall for stability, and he has to keep stopping for dizzy spells. By the time he reaches his room, Lance doesn’t even bother changing out of his towel, instead collapsing on the bed, out like a light by the time his head hits the pillow. 

But the sleep is anything but an escape. He dreams of dark space battles and the Galra, of Shiro getting injured, of Keith deciding he truly does hate him, of the team rejecting Lance as a valuable member. He dreams of all his fears in one big blur and when he wakes by Shiro shaking him by the shoulder he doesn’t feel like he’s rested at all. In fact, he’s barely coherent and his mouth starts talking before his brain can tell it to. 

“Sh’ro? What ‘re you doin here?” Lance asks, shivering like a chihuahua. He flinches when Shiro places a large palm on his forehead but he’s not coordinated enough to dodge it. Afterward, he tries to push it off, embarrassment thick in his chest, but it’s too late. 

“I came to grab you for training but it’s clear you’re sick. Why didn’t you tell me this morning?” Shiro looks strangely hurt and it sends panic flickering through Lance’s mind. 

“I-I could handle it.”

“You almost got yourself killed by a training bot and then fell in the shower and now you’re burning up. Clearly, you can’t handle it yourself,” Shiro lets out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose,” You should have told me,” Shiro finishes and his words sound a little wet. 

He’s upset Shiro over being sick? Why would Shiro even care? Lance is a little dense at times but he honestly can’t see why Shiro cares, but his mouth keeps running as he thinks and he’s only shocked by the time he ends, “Shiro, ‘s not personal. I just like you and I couldn’t handle you taking care of me and knowing that you didn’t like me back. Too much.”

Lance gasps after he’s done, hand flying up to cover his eyes. Shiro’s stunned for a few moments but lowers Lance’s hand after a bit, eyes kind and soft again. “Lance…” he trails off, blushing and dense Lance is out the window. 

“You like me too?” He throws out and Shiro nods, eyes flicking back to Lance’s face.”Well then you’re gonna have to tell me again when I’m better. Because right now I’m pretty convinced this is a fever dream and if it isn’t I can’t do anything to you that I want to until I’m no longer contagious.”

Shiro bends over, running a hand over Lance’s forehead, “It’s not a fever dream Lance. But, now will you admit you're sick and let me take care of you?”

“Yes, nurse.” He winks and Shiro lets out a shocked chuckle, hitting Lance lightly on the arm, amusement lightening his eyes. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!  
> I just got into Voltron and this is my first Voltron fic so sorry if the characters are a bit off. I'm trying to practice writing them so I can bang out a lot more fics so sorry if these aren't perfect. That being said if you liked this please leave a comment or a kudos, they really boost my morale with writing. 
> 
> Thank you!  
> C


End file.
